


you should have slept and rotted beneath the petunias

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (inasmuch as anything in Homestuck can be called pre-canon), Canon Pet Death, Gen, Mom Lalonde's Highly Questionable Parenting, Pre-Canon, dysfunctional family dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A partial account of Jaspers's brief presence in Rose's life.
Relationships: Rose Lalonde & Rose's Mom | Beta Roxy Lalonde
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous, Unofficial FFA Anon Collection





	you should have slept and rotted beneath the petunias

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on FFA for the prompt: "100 words of spending a lot on your pets"

When Rose is four and a half and has just finished Helgren's _The Encyclopedia of Cat Breeds, First Edition_ to the best of her limited but incredibly stubborn reading ability, she asks her mother for a cat.  
  
She is young and naive, and does not anticipate what follows.  
  
Her mother insists on only the finest. She takes Rose to see what must be a solid quarter of all the reputable cat breeders in the state, and on airplane trips to several more, all just to select a single animal. Rose is allowed to pet the kittens, and meet with them. Her mother, several breeders, and no less than three other miscellaneous adults instruct her multiple times on the proper conduct when meeting with new kittens.  
  
Rose does not need this, and on one occasion throws a tantrum at the indignity, She has read the encyclopedia cover to cover by now. The dictionary's assistance should not diminish this achievement in the slightest.  
  
Each meeting goes the same way. Travel a long boring distance. Stare out the window the whole way. Meet with the breeder, meet with the mother cat, meet with the kittens. Be lectured by a well-meaning adult on how to properly hold a kitten. Be resentful. Watch Mother coo over the "adorable babies", and pet them and fuss over them like she does over Rose. Leave, without selecting a single one, now that mother's favor has soured the choice.  
  
Rose is not sure if the visits are expensive. They probably are. She feels a little petty joy at this, but Mother is not worried, so it isn't as satisfying as it could be.  
  
One cold autumn morning when Rose is very nearly five, they are returning home (well, to a hotel, this time, to catch a plane home the next day) after yet another kitten-shopping visit, when Rose hears a sound from a dumpster down the alley beside them. Rebellious and already sulking from today's failure, she wriggles her hand out of Mother's grip and bolts off to investigate. Mother calls for her, and soon follows, but does not hurry to stop or scold her. (She never does. Other children's parents do, but Rose is not old enough yet to understand why her mother is different.)  
  
She finds the source of the noise quickly, low to the ground as she is, and pulls aside the layers of newspaper to find a grimy, mewling black kitten in a sodden cardboard box. Rose picks the kitten up with expert care, letting it nestle in her arms and smear dirt and street muck across her pink puffer jacket and down the front of her favorite shirt without a second thought.  
  
It is not as soft as the breeder's kittens, the fur slick and clumpy, but it is warm against her chest and shivering desperately. In that moment, she decides it is absolutely perfect.  
  
When Mother catches up, she coos and fusses like before, and tells Rose she'll have to change when they get home, but does not complain.  
  
The kitten, as she later learns, is ill and shaken by whatever incident left it abandoned in the newspaper pile, and must be taken to a veterinarian. Between vaccinations, flea treatment, and a myriad of minor medical troubles, Rose is spitefully enthralled to learn that veterinary treatment for a sick kitten can cost more than the adoption fees of a healthy one. She insists on keeping it. Mother will never refuse her, if she believes she is making her little darling Rosie truly happy; it's the only reliable thing about her.  
  
Rose spends a time with her encyclopedia before tentatively identifying the cat as an American shorthair, most likely some indistinct mix of a thousand feline ancestors. He (Rose determines this from a diagram in the book) comes from nowhere but the alleyway, and Mother lays no claim to him. In a sense, if only one, this cat is Rose's and Rose's alone.  
  
Mother pampers the cat excessively even once he is well. She commissions a little tailored suit for him, from some specialty pet clothing business in France, and has a collar tag custom engraved in eighteen-karat gold. The name on the tag is in Rose's handwriting -- she makes it as sloppy as possible, to see how far she'll be humored. The engraver copies it exactly.  
  
Rose adores the creature. When his life is cut short two years later by an unexpected disappearance, and she stumbles upon the body in the riverbank behind her home, she sobs and sobs while Mother pats her shoulder and repeats phrases Rose has read in the parenting books from the living room before retreating to her own bedroom to sob harder and make the hallway stink of drinks. Rose does not speak to Mother again directly until a full day after the funeral.  
  
The ornate picture frame on the refrigerator for Rose's commemorative poem costs fifteen thousand dollars. Welding it probably costs more. Rose does not know how much a stone mausoleum the size of a garden shed costs, and she does not want to know.  
  
She does not ask for another cat.


End file.
